


a lesson in self preservation

by guardianoffun



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Arguing, M/M, Mild Descriptions of Injury, Morse faints a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 01:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19285720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/pseuds/guardianoffun
Summary: There's only so many on-the-side patch ups and temporary fixes Max can do before he feels a little bit like he's being used. Aren't they supposed to be more than that?Morse comes home hurt, again, and Max isn't best pleased.





	a lesson in self preservation

**Author's Note:**

> !! inspired by imagination therapy, i asked for four random words (ding, marble, blanket, tears) and don't ask how but this happened from it? i hope its good??

Max would be lying if he said he hadn’t been waiting for the doorbell to ring all night. Sat beside a casserole which had long gone cold, eyes flickering from the phone to the door and back again, he had been trying to distract himself from growing worry with a book on flower arranging. 

It was very difficult to concentrate though, when each minute the clock hands moved was another minute Morse was late for dinner. It wouldn’t have been such an issue, had this been a normal night, a normal dinner. But tonight had become a sort of anniversary of theirs. This time three years ago marked the first dinner they shared, and it had only been by happenstance they had the exact same meal a year later. It seemed right to do the same again this year.

Yet here he was, two hours later, unable to even try and eat because worry had long since settled in his stomach.

If Morse was running late he usually called, and when Max had called the station half an hour ago they could only tell him that Morse and DS Jakes were investigating a break in some ten miles out. 

He had the wild idea of grabbing his coat and taking off into the night in search of his lost detective, but he also feared he would leave just in time for Morse to return and only add to the confusion. Best to sit tight, he thought, the PC at Cowley didn’t think they would be too long now.

Still, Max couldn’t help his wandering mind flitting between emotions. One moment overcome with the thought Morse was in some kind of terrible trouble, the next burning with a quiet sort of anger at Morse’s habit of vanishing without so much as a phone call (this was not the first time a dinner had been missed.) then he felt guilty for being annoyed, in case something  had  happened to Morse and then it started the whole sorry cycle over again.

He wasn’t entirely sure how long he sat fretting, his book going completely unread in his lap, when a weary rap on the door snapped him from his daze. Catching sight of the window, Max could just make out the familiar, lanky figure on the porch, and felt at least reassured that morse wasn’t dead. He was however, in a world of trouble.

Pulling open the door, he put on his sternest face and huffed.

“Just what kind of time do you call th- Christ!”

He was cut off as the hallway light cut across Morse’s face, and picked out the horrific bruises that covered most of Morse’s face.

Morse gave him a sheepish smile, then winced.

“Sorry I’m late.” He said. “Can I come in?”

As Max pulled him into the hallway, and then out into the harsh light of the kitchen, the damage to Morse’s face only seemed to increase. The closer Max looked, he realised that nearly the whole of the left side of Morse’s face was now a quickly purpling bruise, his nose was bloodied, and he was walking with a definite limp.

Another wave of angry-upset washed over Max, but he pushed it down in favour of herding Morse into a dining room chair and carefully unbuttoning his jacket. Morse said nothing, only grimaced as Max slowly peeled away his clothes. There was a bruise peeking out from the neck of Morse’s vest, and from the rigid way he held himself, it appeared to span most of his left side.

“Morse… what happened?” Max asks finally. He tries not to sound like a doctor, but it comes out far more sharp than he means it.

Morse shrugs, gives him another tight smile.

“Burglary, only no one told us it was still in progress. Wasn’t till we got upstairs we realised there was still someone in the house. Bastard cornered me.” He huffed as he leant back in his chair.

“Had me take the short way down a  marble bloody staircase.”

Max took in a sharp breath, as his hand reached out to cup Morse’s chin. Almost instantly, he drew his hand back with a cry.

“Morse, you’re freezing-” Morse waved a hand.

“I left the car at the hospital,” Max paled, and Morse hurried to fill the gap before he could jump in.

“I dropped Jakes off! He took a bash to the head, I left him with the doctors,” he tried to sit up and doubled over with a groan.

“Thought I’d come home to mine.” He gave Max a sorry attempt at a smile. Max felt himself bristle. He stood up, with the intention of going to fetch a blanket from the living room, and before he meant to, he heard himself snap.

“I rather wish you hadn’t.” It wasn’t meant to come out quite that cold. He sped quickly from the dining room, and tried to ignore the sad voice that called after him.

“Max?”

The doctor took a few seconds to collect his racing thoughts before plucking the blanket from the back of the sofa. Back in the kitchen, he threw it around Morse’s shoulders and began making tea, all whilst ignoring the way Morse’s sad eyes followed him around the room.

“Max? What-” Morse sighed. “I know I should have called or something, I didn’t mean to miss dinner.”

The cup in Max’s hand gave a small creak in protest to the sudden pressure it found itself under.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Morse, it’s not  about  dinner!” He turned around, teaspoon still in hand and jabbed it in Morse’s direction.

“It’s  this ! It's bad enough you constantly walk into disasters,” Morse opened his mouth to say it, but he had opened this can of worms, and now he was going to watch Max empty the whole thing.

“I know it’s a part of the job sometimes Morse, and I might not like it but I can handle it. What I can’t stand is when you come trailing back here expecting me to patch you up! You realise I’m a pathologist, Morse, I work on the dead. I am not your personal physician.”

“Max that’s not-”

“No? Because it feels that way sometimes.”

Max can feel hot, angry tears welling in his eyes and he curses himself. He snatches off his glasses and presses his fingers into his eyes.

“I do wonder, you know, if I’m anything more than a convenience to you. The nearest thing to a doctor, the quickest lab reports, the easiest dinner-“ he has to stop himself before he says something he’ll really regret.

“I… come to you… I trust you, Max. I hate doctors, but you, I.. I don’t mind if you’re the one with the needles and thread. I trust you.”

Max lets out a frustrated groan. For a genius Morse can be a thick headed idiot at times.

“Yes but I hate it Morse, I hate it. All I can think is how it could have been worse, how hard it would be to see you on my slab instead. Your work could very well get you killed and I like to think I can ignore that fact most days, but not when I’m stitching you back together. I’m sick of it Morse!” Max doesn’t realise his voice has risen until it echoes around the kitchen.

Morse’s face sours, and he goes to stand.

“I think… I think I should leave.” He says, and stands just as Max goes to tell him not to be such an idiot; when he goes as white as a sheet and keels over

“Morse!”

Max shoots out his hands, seconds too late, as Morse lands with a thump on the floorboards. Instead his hands fly to check for a pulse, and to roll Morse onto his back. The detective groans, but his eyes flutter open at least.

“DeBryn?” He mumbles, glancing around blearily. “I don’t feel so go-“ he lets out a high pitched kind of noise, and his hand flies to his stomach.

Max is on his knees at his side, and he pushes up Morse’s undershirt. True to his earlier assumption, there’s an ugly purpling bruise spanning most of Morse’s ribcage. There’s probably some deeper damage done, and the walk home from town, in what was nearing arctic weather hadn’t helped.

“Don’t worry, tento, I’m here,” he pulled the blanket over and wrapped it around Morse.

“You’ve probably bruises more than your ribs, but I’m more worried- does this hurt?” he asks, as he presses his hand to the spot just under Morse’s ribs. The noise it pulls out of Morse is not something he needs to hear again.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he mutters, as Morse goes paler still and passes out. Max swears, very unlike himself, and checks his pulse again. Still a little too fast, but his breathing is near enough normal. He doesn’t  think  there’s any internal bleeding going on, but like he keeps telling Morse, he’s not that kind of doctor. That does prompt him into him into his next course of action though; getting Morse in the car and back up to the hospital. Morse should have known this would be more than Max could fix, but that’s now a lecture for another day it seems. He considers calling for an ambulance when Morse stirs beneath his hands again. It might be quicker to head there themselves.

Morse mumbles something, his hands coming up grab at his head. Max takes the opportunity to get him moving. He slides his arms under Morse’s.

“Come on, let’s get you up. I think we’re past stitch ups on slabs, now aren’t we?” Morse lets himself be tugged about, head lolling on his shoulders as he tries to say something.

“I’m so-sorry,” he slurs as Max hoists him up into a sitting position.

“Oh Morse, do be quiet.” Max sets about gathering both their coats, and then pours the now slightly over-stewed tea into a thermos.

“Mean it Max,” he sounds winded, even though he’s sitting perfectly still. “Don’t mean t’upset… you.” Max tucks the thermos in his coat pocket and then slides his hands under Morse’s arms.

“Yes dear, I know. Now, on three?” He gives Morse a moment to nod, and together they manage to get Morse on his feet again, though he sways precariously. The steps they take to the front door are slow, and they must be painful for Morse, whose face is now a permanently pinched.

It takes a few minutes of slow shuffling, but Max eventually gets Morse propped up against his car whilst he searches for his keys. He bundles Morse in, and pushes the tea into his hands. There’s not an awful lot Max DeBryn truly believes in, but the healing properties of tea is one thing.

“Get some of that in you Morse, and don’t you dare think about making a mess of my front seat.” He hopes it might coax even a smile out of Morse, but he’s not even sure he heard him. Even as Max pulls out of the drive, Morse is silent. He holds himself stiff again, hands clutching the thermos so hard his knuckles are white. They drive in silence for quite a while. When Max glances across at Morse  as they pass under a lamppost, there are tears on his bruised cheeks. Max reaches one hand over to rest above Morse’s.

“Morse, please. Speak to me.”

When he does, it’s with a voice so hoarse, he can barely hear it.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why you bother.”

“In case you hadn’t realised Morse, I’m rather fond of you.” He lets his hand reach up to gently wipe at the tear that’s caught on the end of Morse’s nose. “Even when you’re being an infuriatingly dramatic fool.”

That makes Morse’s lips quirk a little.

“I was only upset because,” Max pauses for a moment, a hundred words flicking through his mind. How best to say it?

“I couldn’t bear to lose you Morse. Every-time you come to me, looking like this, I can’t help it. It feels like you’ve already given up, walking into the morgue.”  

Morse lets out a sharp, pained laugh at that.

“Most of the time you’re all that’s stopping me from giving up.”

Max isn’t quite sure how to respond to that. He lets his hand fall back into Morse’s lap, and finds his hand. He winds his fingers through Morse’s and holds tight.

“You’ve got a whole lot more than me, tento. Inspector Thursday for one, and Strange. I daresay you and Jakes might even be friends now. Your sister, of course, and I know for a fact Mrs. Reed next door would do anything for you, as she’s told me many times.”

That last one gets a smile. It’s a little strained, but his eyes seem a little brighter.

“Let the rest of the world help you Morse, Please? If not for yourself, for me?”

Morse chews at his lip, as they pull up outside the hospital, Max heading for the staff parking round back. As they pull into a space, Morse speaks, quiet but sure.

“I’d do anything for you, Max.”  Max feels his face flush at that. Morse, not often one for grand romantic gestures, surprises him sometimes; and he does so again, by letting out a sudden wheezing cough, and falling forward onto the dashboard.

Medical instincts kicking in, Max speeds from the car and flags down a nurse. Within moments, a team is maneuvering Morse into a wheelchair, and Max finds himself following them at a jog, heart pounding as he watches gloved hands begin their work. In amidst it all, a bleary eyed Morse meets his eye, his hand finds Max and it feels for a moment like the world has stopped turning.

“Then don’t do this Morse, don’t  let this beat you. ."

 

* * *

Max had fallen asleep some hours later, in one of those horrible chairs at Morse’s bedside. The constable, no longer quite so close to death’s door, was sleeping soundly and Max had watched him breath until exhaustion had eventually overcome him. 

When he wakes, it’s to the soft sound of pages turning. For a second, Max is lost; the world is a dimly lit blur, until the sounds stop and something is pressed into his hand. His glasses. He pushes them on to find Morse, book resting on his lap, smiling softly at him.

“You’re alright,” Max says, somehow a question and answer all at once. Morse nods.

“I will be. I told you, I’d do anything for you.”

It must be the late hour, or the lack of food, because Max is out of nowhere, tearing up. He’s cried far too much this evening, how dare Morse make him  feel  quite this much. He shakes his head, and reaches a hand out to run his fingers along Morse’s unbruised side.

“There’s only one one thing I ask of you Morse.”

Morse’s eyebrows rise, so Max leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Stay with me. Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> i love max with all my dumb heart!! how do u guys think i did? hope yall enjoyed


End file.
